


This Is Just to Say

by dogpoet



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-30
Updated: 2009-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogpoet/pseuds/dogpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone has been leaving little <i>notes</i> around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Just to Say

Someone had been leaving little _notes_ around. Little _poems_. Jim found himself staring at one of them at breakfast. How had it gotten on his tray? Was this the ship's doing? Was it spewing out the equivalent of fortunes on bits of paper? Was it a replicator malfunction? It all seemed much more targeted than that.

Jim read the bit of poetry again.

_this is just to say  
yesterday  
your uniform bunched up  
showing  
your abdomen  
so pale and delicious_

Jim recalled his shirt riding up during his shift the previous day, but who else would have noticed? And of those people, who would have written him this note? He glanced around to see if anyone was looking his way, but no one was. Nurse Chapel sat at the table with him, but she was talking animatedly to Scotty about something or another, God knew what, since they had nothing in common. Jim squinted at the piece of paper. Of course, no one wrote notes by hand anymore. There was no way of identifying the script.

Upon returning to his quarters after shift, Jim found another note, which had been slipped under his door. He bent to pick it up, searching the neat block letters for clues to the writer's identity.

_the moons of delta vega  
shine so brightly  
behind you  
on the observation deck --  
spring music_

What the hell did that mean, Jim wondered. He'd been standing on the observation deck earlier that day! And they had just left Delta Vega's orbit. Clearly, this note was intended for him, and was not simply a random bit of paper, one of hundreds left under every door.

Better safe than sorry, Jim thought, as he headed down to have an evening drink with Bones. As they sipped their brandy, Jim tried discreetly to ask about the notes.

"Bones, have you been getting, I don't know, little notes? Like, bits of paper left around your desk or anything?"

Bones cast a curious glance Jim's way. "What? Like prescription requests?"

"More like...poems," Jim said, feeling like a fool.

"Poems? What the hell are you talking about? I'm a doctor, not a librarian!"

And that was the end of that.

The next morning, there was one on his chair! On the bridge! Where anyone could have seen it!

_a lonely star  
floating  
through darkness  
two stars  
passing in the night  
need not be lonely_

Jim read the words, feeling heat rise to his face. He crumpled the note quickly before anyone could see it. Glancing around the bridge, he tried to detect any traces of subterfuge on the faces of his crew. Uhura appeared to be busy receiving the morning's transmission from the Federation. Sulu and Chekov were geeking out about something or other, and appeared to be unaware that they should be working. Jim glanced over his right shoulder at his first officer. Spock was bent over his data screen, but this wasn't the type of thing Spock would do. Jim dismissed the thought, tucked the crumpled paper into his pocket, and put the notes out of his mind.

That night, after his daily swim, Jim opened his locker to find yet another slip of paper. He crumpled it up without looking at it, the water from his hand causing the ink to bleed through. He almost threw the note away, he was so agitated. But then his curiosity got the better of him. He uncrumpled the note, smoothing it on the bottom of the locker. The smeared ink seemed to have a life of its own.

_arc through water  
lines i love  
limbs i touch  
in dreams  
but not in waking_

This was the _men's_ locker room, Jim realized. A man was leaving him these notes. Jim glanced around, but saw no one. He walked along the aisles to see who else was in the locker room, but there was no one. What was the purpose behind the notes, Jim wondered. And didn't the writer know he could face disciplinary action? Jim dried off, then dressed. He pocketed the note, folding it neatly. He decided to consult Spock. Logic was needed in a situation like this.

Jim strode through the corridors to Spock's quarters. He was admitted immediately -- Spock's door was set to let Jim in automatically, and without question. Spock sat at his computer going over some sort of data files. Jim sat in the chair beside the desk.

"Captain. Are you here for some chess?" Spock asked, regarding Jim with an expression that was far too serious.

"No, Spock, I --" Jim noticed a bit of paper peeking out from under Spock's tricorder. "What's this?" His finger prodded at the bit of paper, trying to extract it from its paperweight.

"That is nothing, Captain," Spock said quickly, darting a hand out and placing it on top of the tricorder.

There was nothing Spock disliked more than invasion of his privacy. Jim quieted the comment he was tempted to make about no one using paper anymore. He withdrew his hand. "I've been receiving notes from someone, I'm not sure whom. I'm at a loss as to what course of action I should take. I thought you could advise me."

Spock removed his hand from the tricorder. "You will have to be more specific in order for me to offer counsel."

"I think they're love notes," Jim remarked, watching Spock carefully.

"Indeed. Most peculiar. Do you...return the feelings expressed in these epistles?" Spock cast his eyes down at his desk for a moment, then looked up to meet Jim's gaze.

"I wouldn't know. Who are they from, that's the question. How can I feel one way or another if the writer doesn't come forth?" Jim sat back in his chair, trying to relax, or at least look as if he were relaxed. Like the answer to the question didn't matter much.

Spock steepled his fingers and placed them against his lips in a considering gesture. "A dilemma." He fell silent for a moment. Jim waited. "Perhaps the sender fears your reaction. Perhaps he is uncertain of how his sentiments might be received."

"So," Jim said, leaning forward suddenly, coming close to Spock. "You don't think it's a woman leaving me these notes?"

Jim had to hand it to Spock. The man was unflappable.

Without missing a beat, Spock said, "I believe a woman would be more direct. Your proclivities are well known."

"I don't go chasing after the women on this ship. That would be unprofessional." Jim pulled his chair even closer to Spock. Spock nodded, conceding. "What would you advise me to do to...let this person know that I would be open to non-literary activities?"

Spock straightened in his chair. "You might leave a note where the note-leaver would find it."

Jim scooted his chair back to the other side of the desk. "An excellent suggestion, Mr. Spock. I will effect it right away!" He got up, and headed for the door without glancing back.

Later that night, Jim scrounged around in the storage room, searching for a bit of paper. The stuff wasn't easy to come by on the Enterprise. He took the single sheet back to his quarters, and sat down at his desk.

When he had finished writing, he slipped the note under his door, so just the tiniest sliver of paper would be visible from the corridor.

_I am no poet.  
Forgive me.  
If you can open the door,  
I will be   
waiting to speak  
without words._

Spock, of course, had access to his quarters at all times, and without question.


End file.
